THE BIG GAME

by Sandy Schofield

  “Can we put that on screen, Major?”

  Kira didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. She opened the channel and put the Cardassian vessel on screen. On the eye-shaped screen, Gul Danar appeared. Dirt covered his ugly Cardassian face.

  “Such an attack violates our treaty, Commander Sisko. We will be back.”

  His image faded away before Sisko could say anything.

  “Hail him,” Sisko said.

  “I’m trying, sir,” Kira replied. “He’s not acknowledging our hail.”

  “He wants to believe that we’re attacking him,” O’Brien said.

  “Too bad we aren’t,” Kira said.

  “Actually,” Sisko said, still staring at the blank screen, “from his point of view, we have.”

  Dax whirled her chair. “What do you mean, Benjamin?”

  “Look at it, Dax. The station is still intact. So is the Bajoran runabout, which is heading back to Bajor after sending us a satisfied message which I assume was not scrambled.”

  Kira shook her head. The message had not been scrambled. The Cardassians could have listened in. Despite the chill, sweat ran down the side of her face. Suddenly she regretted her flip remark.

  “From the Cardassian point of view, Dax, it looks as if we destroyed their ship.”

  Kira wiped the sweat off her face. She was shaking. “The Cardassians are experts at revenge, Commander.” Her voice sounded calmer than she felt. “They’ll come back with their fleet.”

  “Even when the station is functioning, we’re no match for a Cardassian warship,” O’Brien said.

  Sisko nodded. “I’m well aware of that.”

  Kira squinted at him. Sisko might know what it meant to be undergunned, but he didn’t know how it felt to be under Cardassian attack or Cardassian rule.

  It was something she never wanted to experience again.

  CHAPTER 24

  QUARK WATCHED the medical team hurry through the door. The woman was the young ensign he had been eyeing for days now. She pushed past the stunned gamblers to the center of the floor, followed by a middle-aged Vulcan and a human man twice Bashir’s age. They surrounded Nam, who was gurgling. Bashir’s hands were covered with Nam’s blood. Bashir had worked steadily since the murder attempt, ripping Nam’s shirt, binding his wounds, and applying pressure until the team arrived.

  Quark wanted them out. All of them. His game was ruined. He didn’t even watch as the team worked on Nam. Quark heard the beeping of medical equipment and saw occasional flashes of light. Finally, after a few moments, he pushed his way through the crowd. Most watched in fascination—the human faces pale with disgust, the Romulan faces flushed green.

  “Excuse me,” Quark hissed at Bashir. “Must you do that here?”

  Bashir didn’t even look up. He was holding a thin, pencil-like device half the size of a phaser and running it over Nam’s wounds. “We are stabilizing him. Give us a moment, Quark, and we’ll be out of your way.”

  A moment was a moment too long. Quark crossed his arms and scanned the players. Rasmussen was picking up the discarded hands and looking at them. Sarlak stood before his chair so that he could watch Bashir work. Etana, the delicate woman who worked as a military operative for the Ktarans, counted the chips at her table. From a distance, Pera the Bajoran watched her. Quark did too, but she took no chips.

  Finally, the medical team slid the gurney under Nam and lifted it. The crowd parted so that the team could carry him out of the room with Bashir hovering by his side.

  Quark suppressed a sigh as he watched them go.

  He needed to get the players’ minds off this tragedy.

  He pulled over the nearest chair and climbed on it. “I think now is an appropriate time for our first break,” he said in the cheeriest voice he could muster. “Everyone, please hand your cards to the dealer, take the cloth the dealer gives you, and place it over your chips.”

  “But it was my first good hand!” the Grabanster trilled.

  “Yeah, I was ready to clean up!” Davidovich said.

  Quark put up his hands. “Do you think this hand would play the same now that everyone has had a chance to peek at everyone else’s cards? We need a break. My brother will make sure you have all the food and drink you need. And remember, we will start again in thirty minutes, whether everyone has returned to his place or not.”

  He got off the chair and found himself face to face with Rom. “What are you waiting for?” Quark asked. “Get them food.”

  Rom glanced in the direction they had taken Nam. “But—”

  “Later. Go!” Quark pushed Rom to the door. Rom never thought things through. He would have discussed the whole problem in front of all the players. That was all Quark needed. Another setback.

  The players moved to the buffet table near the door. Most of the food had been picked through, but there was enough that people found things to eat while they waited for Rom.

  Quark glanced at the tables. He had chips to deal with. Bashir’s had to be set aside in case the doctor came back. Nam’s went into Quark’s personal collection. Then he would have to decide what to do with Klar . . . L’sthwan’s chips.

  Quark pulled out a portable tabulator and sat in Nam’s chair. The piles of chips were low. Next time he hired ringers, he would make sure they were good players. Nam hadn’t been able to stay ahead with the system flashing on and off so much.

  “This is quite an exciting game,” said a low, modulated voice behind Quark.

  Quark glanced up. Garak, the Cardassian, stood there. “I don’t need to hear about it,” Quark said.

  “Did you think I was going to chastise you for not settling the cheating incident better?” Garak smiled. Quark hated that smile. It looked fake. “I believe it was an interspecies difficulty. Ferengi have a different concept of honor.”

  “We have honor,” Quark said.

  “I didn’t deny that,” Garak said. “It’s just your concept of honor is different from other species. I don’t believe a Ferengi would ever get killing angry about someone cheating him.”

  “When Grand Nagus Zind lost his staff to a cheating Romulan spy—” Too late, Quark saw the bait and stopped himself. “Leave me alone, Garak. I have work to do,”

  “Forgive me,” Garak said. “I was merely trying to put your mind at ease.”

  “My mind will be at ease when I get these chips counted” Quark said.

  Garak bowed slightly and headed across the room. The odor of roast beef stew reached Quark and turned his stomach. Then the vinegary scent of fried banana slug in young Ulian wine covered the horrible stew smell. Rom had acted quickly. The food had arrived.

  Quark counted the chips. Less than half the stake. Still it was better than nothing. It would at least pay the monitors in the storage room if the remaining ringer lost everything. Quark slid the chips into a bag.

  Quark moved to Klar’s chair. Harding sat in the chair next to it, and stared at Quark. “What are you looking at?” Quark asked.

  “I was just wondering,” Harding said, forming his words around his cheap, unlit Ferengi cigar, “if we will get some of our entry fee back. This is not the quiet professional game that you promised.”

  “I never promised a quiet game,” Quark said. He counted the chips quickly. Klar had been ahead. A shame that such a good player would have to resort to violence when faced with cheating. Obviously he had never heard the expression all’s fair in business and poker. Not that it mattered. Klar wouldn’t be able to use this money in prison. The extra here would offset Quark’s losses nicely.

  Quark started to slide Klar’s chips into the bag. Harding grabbed Quark’s wrist. “Ferengi,” Harding said coldly. “You promised us a high stakes game. By retiring these chips, our potential winnings go down.”

  “Worry about that if you make it to the last hand,” Quark said. He had seen Harding play. Quark knew that the human wouldn’t make it all the way.

  Quark got up and went to the first table, where Odo had sat. At least he wouldn
’t lose any money here. The Sligiloid scuttled out of Quark’s way. Quark looked at the table. B’Etor sat on the far side, only a handful of chips in front of her. Xator had even fewer chips in front of him. The Sligiloid had maybe half his stake. Three of the chairs were empty—Quark remembered when those players left the game—and Etana had the most chips. Her tiny catlike features broke into a smile when she saw Quark staring at the remaining chips.

  “Your constable was quite a surprise,” she said. “He never played the way anyone expected.”

  “I can believe that,” Quark said. He sank into the chair. Odo had at least an extra fifty bars of goldpressed latinum in chips on the table in front of his chair. That couldn’t be right. The chips were just stacked wrong. They looked like more than they were.

  Quark counted. Odo had won. A lot. “This isn’t possible,” Quark murmured.

  “Quite possible,” Etana said. “His bluffing style was very unique. And confusing.”

  “No,” Quark said. “You don’t understand. He just learned how to play last night.”

  Xator snorted. “He said the same thing. But no one plays that well after one night’s learning. Beginner’s luck is a myth.”

  Quark stared at the chips. Odo had done really well. It was too good to be true. From what the other players were saying, Odo was some sort of genius player. And he’s working for me, Quark thought, smiling wildly. Maybe my luck is changing at last. If I can get him to stay in the game.

  “What are you smiling about?” Odo’s voice came from behind him.

  Play it cool, Quark thought. Can’t let him think I want him to keep playing. “What are you doing back here? I thought you had a prisoner to contend with.”

  Odo shrugged. “Once he is in the brig, I have little else to do. Primmon will make sure that L’sthwan is fed. One of my assistants is also watching over him.”

  “D-Don’t you need to be there? I mean, you are such an expert—”

  “On what? Helping prisoners pass the time?” Odo put his hands on the back of the chair. “You wanted me in this game, Quark. I believe I should finish it.”

  Quark’s grip on the bag tightened. Can’t blow it now, he thought. “There’s really no need, Constable. You have caught the murderer. You’ve done your job.” He did his best to seem sincere.

  Odo nodded. “So I thought. Then I met the Meepod in the hallway. She’s quite afraid Davidovich will kill her.”

  “That’s nonsense!” Quark said. His nerves were stretched to near breaking.

  “And then I met two Romulans who were convinced that the attack on Nam was an accident and that the Klingons were out to systematically murder all the Romulans in the game.”

  “I’ve never heard anything so preposterous,” Quark said.

  “Then Lursa and B’Etor saw me. They said they had some serious concerns about Bajoran terrorists. Seems they are afraid that since the double-cross they pulled on a Bajoran a while back—”

  “Enough!” Quark said. He put his free hand over the ear closest to Odo.

  “So I was thinking about all of those conversations,” Odo said. Quark sighed carefully. Odo continued. “And something you said came back to me. Something Dr. Bashir confirmed.”

  “Bashir?” Quark wrapped the end of the bag around his hand. The chips felt heavy inside. “We never agree.”

  “But you did,” Odo said. His half-finished face had a serious expression. “You told me poker was a game for cheats and liars. Dr. Bashir said he would be surprised if there was only one murderer in the room. I thought, since I can’t help with the station emergency, that the least I can do is keep an eye on the degenerates that you’ve invited to play this big game.”

  Quark shook his head. “Really, Constable. There’s no need. If there are any problems, you’ll be right down the hall . . . ” Quark was ready to scream, and his hands were damp with sweat.

  “Oh, let him play.” Etana leaned forward so that she could take part in the conversation. “He paid his entry fee, didn’t he? I will feel much safer with him here.”

  The others who had been listening all nodded.

  Odo glanced at Etana. Quark could swear that Odo’s lips were almost turned up in a smile. “She has a point, Quark,” Odo said. “My entry fee is paid.”

  “You can’t take more chips out of the game!” Harding yelled from his table.

  “Quite frankly, Mr. Quark,” Cynthia Jones said from the doorway, “I won’t play anymore if I’m going to be continually guarding my life. Mr. Odo will prevent anyone from taking action.”

  “Yeah,” Quark muttered. “Like he did the last time.”

  Odo frowned. Quark suppressed a smile. Odo had overheard.

  “Very few people knew who he was the last time,” Sarlak the Vulcan pointed out. “Now that players know a representative of the law is here, they will act accordingly.”

  “Seems damn logical to me,” Harding said.

  “It would.” Etana smiled at him. “But then, the killer was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

  Harding harrumphed and chomped on his cigar.

  “You will stay, won’t you, Mr. Odo?” Cynthia Jones asked. Her gown clung to her body. Quark wished the game was over and he had her alone.

  “Well, Quark,” Odo said. “It seems I will plague you for the rest of the so-called tournament.”

  Quark muttered a Ferengi oath under his breath, but loud enough for Odo to hear him. Inside he was cheering and counting his winnings.

  And he would win more than money. He would have used his archenemy to turn a hefty profit. Odo would never be able to face him again.

  CHAPTER 25

  SISKO SCRATCHED HIS CHEEK. The stubble itched. His fingers were cold. The chill in Ops had seeped into his bones. He glanced around Ops. O’Brien was frowning at his engineering console as if he were trying to avoid the empty main viewing screen. Carter was pale. Dax was still staring at Sisko, her beautiful blue eyes wide with shock. Kira had taken a step backwards. On her face, Sisko could see the memories of years of Cardassian oppression. Her remark about attacking the Cardassians had been unprofessional, but understandable. For decades, they had been her enemy.

  If Sisko didn’t act quickly, they would be again.

  He took a deep breath. “Kira, hail Gul Danar, and continue until you reach him.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. Her seriousness had returned.

  “Having trouble with the tractor beam on the remains of the Cardassian ship,” O’Brien said.

  “None of the pieces are heading this way,” Dax said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Sisko said. “We don’t want that debris in space during this turmoil. Keep trying, Dax.” Sisko glanced at the empty viewing screen himself. Its almond shape spoke of its Cardassian origins as clearly as the rest of the station. If the crew at Deep Space Nine had to battle the Cardassian fleet, the crew would have more than one disadvantage. “O’Brien, I want to dig up more about this Romulan technology.”

  “We encountered it just before I transferred here, sir,” O’Brien said. “We were helping out a crippled Romulan vessel when two of our own crew disappeared. We thought they had died in a transporter malfunction, when actually they had slipped out of phase. I think there is a difference, though, sir. They could see us, but we couldn’t see them. From the information we have here, the Ghost Riders can’t see us at all.”

  “How did you get them back?” Kira asked. She had moved back to her console. She still appeared subdued, but interested.

  “We used an anionic beam.” O’Brien ran a hand through his curly hair. “It brought them back into this space.”

  Sisko felt his heart skip a beat. Could the solution be that simple? “Then perhaps we should be figuring out a way to use an anionic beam on them, Chief.”

  “I worry about that, Benjamin,” Dax said. “An anionic beam might bring the Ghost Riders into our space, but it might bring the Espiritu with them. We don’t know if those energy creatures can survive here or if we’re b
ringing a worse problem.”

  Sisko nodded. The last thing they needed were more creatures in the area outside the station, especially with the Cardassians so angry. “Chief, how is Major Litna’s ship?”

  “Safe in Bajoran space. It should land on Bajor soon,” Carter said.

  “If the Cardassians return, so will she,” Kira said.

  Sisko leaned on the operations table. The relief he felt that Captain Litna was out of the way—at least for the moment—was stronger than he expected. He already had to deal with too many factors. Having one go away, at least for the moment, made him feel as if he had lost ten pounds.

  “It seems to me, Benjamin,” Dax said, “that our problem with the Riders is one of communication.”

  He glanced at her. She had swiveled her chair so that it faced him. Her words had brought him back into focus. One problem had gone away—for the time being—but the others were still there.

  Dax had her hands clasped in her lap. Her knuckles had turned white. “If we can let them know the havoc they’re causing in this area, then they may move on.”

  “They’re little more than pirates, Dax.” Kira stepped away from the console. “They don’t care about the damage they’re doing.”

  “But we do have a bargaining chip if we need it,” Sisko said. He stood up. “Chief, you said that they’re wanted by the Federation. We could let them know that this area is protected by the Federation, and ask them to leave, letting them know that if they refuse, they will be taken into custody.”

  “We can’t let them go!” Kira said. “They’re killing Espiritu!”

  “We don’t know that, Major.” And Sisko couldn’t add one more problem to his already full plate. He would deal with the Espiritu later, once he was certain his station—and the treaty—would survive.

  “I think we have a good case for it,” Kira said. “When Espiritu die, they decay in a way that creates bumps in space. That’s how they were discovered in the first place. We have been having a lot of turbulence, Commander. Part of that means Espiritu are dying.”